


Last Night Lassie

by sebviathan



Series: in between the lines (there's a lot of obscurity) [9]
Category: Psych
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, angst like woah, spoilers for 6x02 Last Night Gus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-31
Updated: 2015-07-31
Packaged: 2018-04-12 06:35:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4469012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sebviathan/pseuds/sebviathan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While on a group investigation, Lassiter finds himself without inhibition. Through the night he does and says some things that luckily no one, including him, will remember tomorrow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Last Night Lassie

It's Spencer's fault that he has a dull ache in his face. If he hadn't told Guster to keep driving out of Carlton's way as a prank so that he couldn't get into the car, that asshole wouldn't have been able to come up and sock him in the eye.

It's also Spencer who gets out of the car and holds him back to keep him from killing that asshole, which makes him very angry. Why would he do that? The guy deserves it.

Is it some kind of punishment for Carlton leaning on him the whole time they were in the bar, talking to the P.I.? Is he mad? That would be weird, Carlton thinks. Spencer's always the handsy one, never giving him his personal space, sitting on his lap to purposely get him flustered...

And  _everything_ is his fault.

Except the car getting wrecked, of course. That's Bobo's fault. That giant donut-shaped sonuvabitch took three whole bullets to take down.

As mad as he is at Spencer, he still enjoys being squished against him in the back seat of the car as Guster drives them all to the motel. He scoots as close as possible, figuring that nothing is stopping him. Spencer isn't even stopping him. Carlton feels airy and warm and he thinks Spencer does too, because he's smiling. And his hand is on Carlton's knee.

Okay, he forgives him. He decides that he can't stay mad when they're close like this, when his whole body is warm and the stoplights are blurry and he feels like he could just fall asleep on him right now.

But he can't fall asleep, not yet. They're on an investigation. To find... that woman. The adultering woman.

...What woman is that, again? She's blonde, he remembers. Oh, it's Juliet! Juliet's cheating on Shawn. Of course she would, of course she'd get fed up with him already and want someone else. Not Carlton, though. He's been fed up with him for years but he's  _never_  wanted someone else—

"Dude, it's not Jules," Spencer says, and his voice seems to echo as Carlton turns to face him.

"Woah. You really are psychic!" He figures that settles it.

But Spencer then hits him in the chest and shakes his head. "No I'm not, silly. Don't give up on that yet."

"But you are! You just read my mind."

"You were talking out loud, Lassie."

"Oh." That's disappointing. Carlton simply frowns and faces front again, until the car comes to a stop at the motel.

The woman's in there. Not Juliet. A different woman.

Spencer knows the room number already. That's amazing, Carlton wants to say. Except maybe he does say it, but he can't tell. All of his thoughts sound just like the words other people are saying. Which is confusing, but he doesn't really mind. It's kind of easier this way.

Once they're in the light of the motel lamps, Spencer stops in his tracks and grabs him. First his shoulders, and then his face.

"Oh, Lassie—your eye! It's all yellow and red and... kinda blue. It must hurt  _so_ much."

It's fine, really, but Spencer is leaning against him, holding his face and running a light finger down the bruise on his eye, and Carlton feels like his heart is beating comically far out of his chest. Like he's that French cartoon skunk who's in love with the cat.

So he nods slowly, and keeps his eyes on Spencer's.

"Yeah, it does."

"Poor Lassie...," he starts to pout, but one of the other guys (Carlton isn't sure which one; they're all the same to him right now) interrupts:

"Shawn, we need to hurry up and get to the room!"

"Hold on, I gotta fix Lassie's eye first," he protests. And then he leans up and kisses right below Carlton's eye, gentle and chaste, and luckily not that brief.

It actually does feel better once he pulls away.

"Thanks."

"No problemo, Lass."

As they both start walking with the group again, Carlton absentmindedly touches his eye and smiles to himself.

They get a room where they can easily stake out the room the woman is supposed to be in. She doesn't show up, though. Or leave the room, if she was already in there. Spencer decides after about an hour of waiting that this is another dud—but that doesn't mean they have to leave.

"There's a perfectly good pool  _right there_ , we can't leave without swimming first."

"I don't wanna get wet, though," he argues.

"Ooh, I know!" Spencer goes back into the room for a moment and comes back with a motel shower cap on his head.

"How's that supposed to help me?"

"It's not, it's to keep my hair from getting messed up in the pool."

As he says that, Woody is already jumping over the railing and into the pool with all of his clothes still on. Carlton is vaguely concerned for a second, but he comes to the surface in the next couple seconds.

"The water's great, guys!" he yells from below.

"Wait," Spencer starts. "I have an idea. Let's get a mattress from the room so you have something to float on. So you won't get wet."

It makes perfect sense to him, so in the next minute he's got one end and Spencer's got the other, and they're carrying it down the stairs. They hardly even get it in the pool, though, before the motel security shows up. Some of the residents probably reported them.

"What the  _hell_  do you idiots think you're doing?"

"Gus!" Spencer yells immediately. "It's time to leave!"

As they all scramble to get to the car, Carlton vaguely registers that Henry is still in the room. And he knows that he must have said it out loud because the younger Spencer responds.

"He'll be fine. But hey, you know what we need? More drinks. Oh my god, Gus, let's go to a club!"

The P.I. is gone, too. Carlton can't remember when he left but he can only assume that he went to find the woman by himself. Nothing to worry about. In fact  _all_  he can think about is Spencer's suggestion for more drinks. And Spencer's hand on his knee again.

The bouncer of the Wildcat Lounge is reluctant to let them all in (especially Woody), but all it takes is a flash of Carlton's badge to change his mind. Spencer is the one who flashes it, ironically, having apparently taken it from his pocket, but he gives it back once they're inside.

It just gets blurry from there. Carlton only needs a few drinks to get his head swimming and his legs moving—and the next thing he knows he's on the floor, dancing to a Katy Perry song. And for a while he thinks he's dancing with Spencer, but he finds out the hard way that it's actually a stranger (albeit with similar hair) grinding their ass into him.

If he's drunk enough to confuse Spencer with someone else, he thinks he ought to sober up a little. But not too much—not so much that he won't be able to dance with the real Spencer.

...Or maybe he should. He should at least try to take care of the boner that that stranger gave him, since it doesn't seem to be going away on its own.

On his way to the bathroom, though, he finds the real Spencer in an empty hallway. Or Spencer finds him, really.

"Lassie, there you are!"

He turns around to see him, still with the shower cap on, and also a gold chain around his neck.

"That wasn't there before," Carlton says, leaning close to look at the chain and forgetting, for the moment, that he could simply grab it.

"Nice catch, detective," Spencer tells him, sounding genuinely impressed.

His fingers then graze Carlton's cheek, at which he looks up at him. The world is still spinning but it's much slower now, as though it's coming to a stop.

"Shawn."

"How's your eye, Lassie?" he asks quietly like he did before, touching the bruise again.

Carlton feels himself leaning forward—he feels the world  _pulling_  him forward—before he thinks to say anything. And he whispers it, directly onto Spencer's mouth.

"It's fine."

He isn't sure which of them closes the distance, or which of them moves them so that Spencer is against the wall—because the world starts spinning again, and in the best way possible. There's still a hand on his face and another on his chest, fisting his shirt, and his own hands would be in Spencer's hair if the damn shower cap wasn't in the way. Somehow it doesn't occur to him to just pull it off.

For once Carlton feels absolutely sure of himself—he's kissing Spencer, and Spencer is kissing him back. He's pressed against him and Carlton knows he isn't the only one who's hard, he knows that he's  _wanted_ _—_ he's practically living out a dream.

Then for one terrible moment he fears that this _is_  a dream, but no, it can't be. Spencer feels too real, too solid. This is  _real_.

As though to prove to him that this is, in fact,  _too_  real, Spencer finally pulls away with an odd sort of frown.

"Lassie, you have terrible timing," he mutters. It almost sounds like a laugh.

Carlton feels his heart breaking just a little more than it already was.

"But you—"

"I'm sorry."

He's still holding onto his shirt, though. So maybe he still has a chance.

"I remember what you said," he says quickly. His most inner thoughts come rolling off his tongue without inhibition. "I know you said that I just have to deal with the fact that you love her, but I don't know if I  _can_. You're both happy, and I want that, but...  _I_ want to be happy, too."

Spencer's pupils dilate the moment Carlton finishes, but then he just looks sad.

He opens his mouth, but doesn't say anything. Nothing seems to be able to come out.

"Shawn?"

"I—" He closes his mouth then, as well as his eyes. Just for a moment. And then he relaxes against the wall. "I just called Jules to tell her I wanted to move in."

Carlton understands. If he had the energy, he'd be angry, but he doesn't. So he just nods. He closes his eyes and nods and steps away from him, suddenly feeling sick to his stomach. Then, unable to stand Spencer looking at him in pity, he walks back out to the main part of the club without another word.

He doesn't even know if he could stand another drink.


End file.
